


Drowning in a Sea of Sand

by ToriCeratops



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Anxiety, Depression, M/M, Relationship Problems
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-19
Updated: 2015-03-19
Packaged: 2018-03-18 13:20:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3571124
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ToriCeratops/pseuds/ToriCeratops
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When your world crumbles around you, maybe it's time to take a look at the foundation you built your home on.<br/>It's probably not as sturdy as you think.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Drowning in a Sea of Sand

They really were perfect for each other.  Two good men, kind, considerate, passionate,and with a deep understanding of one another that neither would easily find anywhere else.  Maybe – at another point in their lives – that would have been enough.

Maybe.  

If they had grown more first.  If they had talked about it more.  If that night not three weeks into their search across the country Steve hadn’t been too exhausted to fight giving into what he desperately wanted.  

Maybe.  

Maybe then he would not be currently sitting at the edge of a cold and empty bed, the sound of rain beating against the window his only companion and his chest a void where a raging fire once thrived.

* * *

There was a hand in his hair holding his head back while teeth grazed along his neck with the soothing feel of warm breath.  His body was pulled taught and full in ways far beyond his wildest imagination. Neither spoke.  At times they could barely breathe.  

Sam was absolutely beautiful.

It had been nearly two days since they had slept and in a moment of weakness a pat on the back turned into an embrace that went on far too long to be platonic.  There followed the repetitive, abortive moments of an unsure kiss, neither knowing who would give in first.  In the end it never really mattered who did, because the other accepted with firey greed.  They sought each other’s touch as desperately as they sought their release – touching kissing tasting taking – with never a word shared between them.  

It was too much too fast, Steve’s heart and mind still raw with loss and pain.  He knew it was a bad idea.  That they were both operating on pure desire, not paying any mind to the voices that pleaded with them to stop diving head first into something neither was ready for.  But that night, in the quiet stillness of a roadside motel room with moonlight filtered through dusty curtains the only thing to see by, Steve couldn’t find it in himself to care.

 

* * *

 

Maybe.

So many damned maybes.

His room – their room – Sam’s – is colder than Steve has ever felt it and he’d been sleeping there for well over a year.  He’s shaking, and blaming it on the temperature.  He’s staring down at his hands – palm up and open – trying to focus every ounce of energy he has left on simply not falling apart.

There is a picture on the ground – the frame broken at the corner from where it had fallen off the wall. It’s recent, both men laughing on one of the rare occasions they did so as of late, caught by Pepper and sent in a tiny little gift wrapped box a few days later.

It hurts to look at.

 

* * *

 

“I don’t know why I let you talk me into these things.”

“Because it was fun and we were specifically invited.”  Sam had sounded tired.  It was an old argument, one they had been through in one way or another many times before.

“I don’t even like the guy.” Steve slipped his tie out of his collar and threw it onto the dresser.  

“You don’t even give him a chance!  You get so pissed off that he purposely ruffles your feathers and gets under your skin that you ignore the fact that he is a good man at heart.”

Steve huffed, another argument on the tip of his tongue about how doing a really good thing once in a blue moon didn’t make up for all of the other days.  But he let it die and shook his head.  “Doesn’t change the fact that I didn’t want to go in the first place.”

In their closet Sam had been making enough noise that Steve knew he was taking his anger out on their things, but at his words it grew quiet in the room.

He wasn’t dumb enough to think that meant it was over.

Far from it.

After another minute or two Steve had gotten down to his pants and a white tank.  Sam finally stepped out of the closet in just a cream colored pair of light linen pants, slung low on his hips.  Once upon a time the sight of him like that alone would have been enough to cool Steve’s temper.  

This time he didn’t even really notice.

“You think.”  Sam began, voice deceptively calm, “That that might have been prudent information to have, I don’t know, in the two fucking weeks between being invited and going?”  He threw a dirty sock at Steve’s head.

They were both yelling then. “I never said I wanted to go!”  He knew this was a stupid argument to have, that getting angry over it was beyond pointless but that couldn’t stop him.  He was too tired, too wound up from having to put on a good face for so many people.

He’d been itching to be alone from the moment they stepped through the doors.

“You never said you didn’t! Not when I told you we had been invited, or when I made travel arrangements and you were standing right fucking next to me.  On the god damned jet to New York!  Nothing! Not a damn thing.  I am not a telepath, Steve!  If anyone in this relationship was going to have that particular super human ability, ten to one says it would have been the damn super human.”

He had more to say.  They both did.  They would go on arguing about it all night.  But Steve didn’t care to listen any more.  His chest hurt and his fingers tingled.  He was shaking and wasn’t convinced it was the unfounded anger.

Without responding Steve turned and left, pulling the door shut so hard the knob snapped off in his hand leaving the door cracked and swinging behind him.

It wasn’t the first time he’d broken it and it wouldn’t be the last.

 

* * *

 

Steve never backed down from a fight.

When he knew he was right, anyway.

But he realizes then that he had been the one to walk away from almost every single one of them between him and Sam.

And there had been a lot.

Too many.

Too many broken doors and broken words, nights spent fuming and shouting about anything and everything except what was really wrong.  And there was so much wrong.  Sam had tried, from time to time, to fix things – to force what needed to mucked out into the open.

Every time Steve walked away.

And every time, Sam followed.

 

* * *

 

It was snowing and Steve was freezing.

His fault, really.  As was usually the case.  Who goes for a run in the middle of the day while its ten degrees out in sweats and a thin cotton long sleeve t?

Someone running away.

Captain – Fucking – America. That’s who.

Anger is something he’d always been used to, but he usually had a way to channel that.  Nothing was working any more.  Nothing he once enjoyed could hold his interest for any amount of time and he always wound up taking it out on Sam.

Which just made Steve madder at himself.  It was the most frustrating cycle he had ever experienced and he had no clue how to get out.

Something soft and warm slipped around his shivering shoulders.  Steve clutched at the blanket, held it close and drew a deep breath. It smelled heavily of Sam which calmed him instantly.  “You know old geezers falling asleep on park benches is usually frowned upon around here.” Sam sat next to him, bundled up in his own thick coat and stared out at the street.

Steve let out a quiet chuckle and dropped his head.  

“I hope the blanket is enough.  You have got to be freezing and I couldn’t find your coat.”  

“Eh.”  Steve shrugged, hands finally stilling from their frozen tremor, “I’ve had worse.”

For what felt like eons they were both quiet, Sam patiently silent and Steve simply soaking in his new found warmth.

“I’m – I’m sorry I yelled. Again.”  Steve said when he couldn’t take the silence anymore.  “I didn’t – “

“Hey.  I was right there with you.  Pretty sure Clint heard us all the way in New York and he’s deaf.” As he spoke Sam let his arm fall out across his knee towards Steve, palm up in an open invitation.

Steve took it and entwined their fingers immediately.  “You certainly had some pretty choice words. You kiss your mother with that mouth?”

“What she doesn’t know won’t kill me.”  

When Sam gripped his hand tighter and dropped his head on his shoulder Steve felt his chest tighten with all the fears and pain that plagued him every time they found themselves there.  

“We can’t keep doing this.” Steve pressed a kiss to the top of Sam’s head before resting his as well.

“I know.”  Sam’s response was small, quiet.  “But we’re going to.”

Steve sighed. “Yeah.  We are.”

 

* * *

 

Cold fear courses through his veins.  How many times had they danced around this inevitability, the end that he forced upon them because he was too stubborn to do more, to admit that more was needed? And it was what he had feared most for months even knowing full well that it would be by his own hand.

The bedroom suddenly feels too small, too many pictures, memories scattered all around.  Taking the few steps out to the living room doesn’t prove to be much better.  

Worse.  If that is even possible.  The walls are littered here too.  Steve runs his fingers around the frame of a drawing Sam’s niece had made of them at Christmas and the empty feeling in his chest tightens around him. He realizes for the first time that it is not empty.  It’s – it’s something else entirely.  It is pain and it is sorrow.

But more than that, it’s guilt.

_“That boy loves you.”_

Sam’s mother’s words haunt him.  She was the only one to ever suggest such a thing about them.  At least, out loud anyway.

 

* * *

 

Sounds of laughter and family floated through the whole house mixed with the scent of heavy holiday spices that were a relaxing balm all on their own.  They were standing in the kitchen, supposedly to grab more drinks for everyone.

They’d get to that.

Steve leaned back against the counter and sipped at his cider as an excuse for his temporary silence. When he finally couldn’t take her pointed stare any longer he cleared his throat.  “He tell you that?”  It wouldn’t have surprised him, not really.  Though that didn’t mean he wanted to face it.

Sam’s mom was as cool as ever.  “He didn’t have to.  He tells me everything else.”

It was only through a quick gulp that Steve managed not to choke on his drink.  “Everything?”  

There weren’t many people who could intimidate Steve with just a look.  Darlene Wilson topped that tiny list from the day they met and stayed true to form with the glare she gave him then.  He swallowed again.  “Is this the part where you tell me that if I hurt him you’ll come for me?”  To anyone else it would have been a joke, but for her he had honest concern.  

He felt about three inches tall.

Darlene’s expression softened.  “Nothing so cliché as that.  My baby can take care of himself.”  She sighed and Steve watched her tap her fingers against her mug.  He knew she wasn’t someone to hold back on what needed to be said, but this time she hesitated.  “That’s the problem though.  When it really matters – when it comes down to his own survival – he can and will take care of himself.  If something doesn’t change, you are going to lose him. And I can see it every time I see the two of you together – it’s gonna kill you both.”

Steve tried to shrug it off, to play dumb and pretend she wasn’t voicing his deepest fears for all the world to hear.  But he couldn’t make eye contact, instead choosing to stare into his own mug and blame the steam for the moisture in his eye – though he had no excuse for the lump in his throat.  “I don’t understand.”

She came closer and grabbed him gently by the arm, a gesture of comfort that he didn’t deserve.  “I think you do, sweetie.”  When Steve didn’t respond she pushed on “He will circle the earth, cross the heavens and bend and sway in every direction for those he truly cares about, to keep them happy, to make them feel loved.  But he won’t set himself on fire to keep you warm. Nor should he have to.”

 

* * *

 

When Steve slides the door open the summer rain brings in a gust of muggy warmth that still doesn’t chase away the chill in his bones.  

How many good memories had he forgotten, eclipsed by the fights and the darkness?  How many times had they joked, laughed, teased?  Were there more nights than he remembered that they had lay curled around each other until nothing existed but the two of them? They carried each other through so much, dropping everything when the other asked.  But somewhere along the way, Sam stopped asking.  Steve seemed to have filled in the gaps, taking more than his fair share.  When he thinks about it now he’s known how Sam has felt for a while.

But he’d never thought twice about it.

And until today, Sam had never said a word.

* * *

 

They had been shouting. For weeks.  Maybe even months.  One argument had seemed to bleed into the next with barely a chance to catch their breath in between.  Steve knew they were reaching a breaking point.  You can only pull something so far before it finally snaps, before the faults give way and you’re left with shattered pieces of a whole slipping through your fingers.

Sam had asked him to go somewhere.  Do – something, Steve wasn’t even sure what.  What he did know was that he didn’t want to go.  He didn’t want to talk to people, he didn’t want to see people. There wasn’t a physical fight to go take out everything on, to help him focus and avoid himself - so all he wanted to do was sit and do…  Well, to be honest he didn’t even know.  He just knew what he didn’t want and that was to do whatever it was Sam was asking.

“You are such a stubborn, asshole!  Why,” Sam stormed through the tiny apartment accidentally knocking his shoulder into the door frame so hard it shook pictures from the wall.  “Why can’t you just, fucking TRY.  Try, for once.  For me. For.  God, for US, Steve!”

“Because I don’t care, Sam!” It was out before he realized what he was responding to, and then it was all too late.

He had pulled the last centimeter on that last, too taught string.  

And his world snapped.

Steve watched as the anger in Sam’s stance vanished from one breath to the next.  It was strange, to see him go from fury to what seemed terrifyingly like resignation so fast.  He nodded, not bothering to continue their argument and just stood there for a moment, unknown thoughts racing through his head in a whirlwind if his expression was anything to go by.  

“Right.”  He disappeared into their closet, emerging immediately with the bag he always had packed in case they ever had to leave in a hurry.  

Instantly Steve stood straighter, his own anger snuffed out by a sudden sense of dread.  “Sam?”  His heart pounded in his chest and in his ears.  

They both stood there in the deafening silence while Sam wrung his hands along the strap of his bag in a death grip.  He started and stopped what seemed like a dozen times.  When he finally spoke, it was in a shaky tone that Steve could tell he was barely keeping together.

And he said the one thing Steve had never heard from him.  

“I love you.  And it is killing me.”  Sam was staring right at him, through him, and Steve couldn’t help but look away.  “We argue and fight and scream and fuck and nothing ever changes.  Nothing gets better.  WE don’t get better. And Steve, I can’t – I have got to get better.  I can’t sit here and keep hoping that one day you’ll wake up and want the same thing I do.  Over and over and over again I ask and I suggest and I pick at the wounds so maybe one day you’ll see that they’re still bleeding underneath, but all you ever say is ‘I don’t care.’”

“But that doesn’t mean – “

“I know, what it doesn’t mean.  I also know what it does mean.  And I love you. God, do I love you.  And I would carry you to the ends of the earth if I could.  But you are so damn heavy.  And I am – I am weak.  With wounds of my own that make it hard to walk.”  His voice was more broken that Steve had ever heard, begging Steve to listen, to really hear him.  

“I can’t keep waiting for one day.”

 

* * *

 

Their problem was that as much as they talked, they never really spoke.

They could carry on conversations for hours, fight for what felt like days.  But how much had he ever really shared?  Certainly nowhere near as much as Sam.  Steve had held back, brushed things off until he’d quit asking entirely.  He was scared, scared that sharing everything he had lost would only hurt worse, cut deeper. That was all he had though – his loss.

He was nothing without it and if he gave that up, then what?

Steve spins that thought through his head over and over, picking at it and trying to justify it countless times until it holds no water whatsoever.

The realization hits him so hard it knocks the wind from his chest.  The ache is too much and finally, Steve starts to cry.  Tears for what he has put himself – and more importantly Sam – through, for what he is about to lose if he doesn’t fix this right now.

A moment later he’s out in the rain running down the steps to the sidewalk and sprinting towards the train station.

Because if he let’s go, even if all he can manage is tiny, microscopic pieces at a time, then what he’ll be left with is room.

Room for something more.

Something different.

Room for something better.

For what’s been right there waiting for him to accept it all along.

 

* * *

 

Sam’s nightmares were few and far between, but they existed, and they were horrible.  He’d woken up in a cold sweat shouting incomprehensibly into the darkness.  Steve was there, soothing him and holding him close until they were laying down again, curled up with Sam laying on Steve’s chest, neither able to get back to sleep.

For hours they stared up at the textured ceiling, pointing out constellations and shapes like they were outside under the clouds and stars.  Steve never stopped dragging his fingers along Sam’s skin, light trails of his touch, circling around scars and tracing outlines of muscle.  

When the first hint of sunlight invaded their world Sam propped his chin on his crossed arms atop Steve’s chest and stared, contemplating something.  

Steve squirmed but gave him a smile.  “Something on my face?”  His voice was cracked and quiet, still tired from not sleeping most of the night.

Nothing was quite the same as Sam’s smile, especially when directed at Steve with that brilliance and openness.  He wanted to memorize every inch of it.  “No, I just…” Sam laughed then shook his head. “Never mind, it’s nothing.”

He lay his head back down on Steve’s chest and wiggled further into the bed as if to attempt to finally go back to sleep.

And Steve just accepted it, kissed his head mumbling about crazy sleep deprived boyfriends, and joined him in his attempt at slumber.  

 

* * *

 

The station is packed, Steve is soaked to the bone, and people are staring.  The staring he’s generally used to, though it usually puts him on edge.  This time he barely notices passed simple acknowledgement, too focused on searching for Sam.  His shoes squish and slide on the smooth tile, leaving a trail of water in his wake.  Sam hadn’t said where he was going, but Steve knows.

He doesn’t have much time before the next train to New York departs, and that platform is on the other side of the station.

Steve ducks and weaves in and out of the crowd doing everything he can to not just knock everyone down to get where he needs to be.

Eacj step he takes feels like his goal is farther and farther away until he finally turns the corner and sees his destination.

But his heart lurches to his throat as he watches the train start to pull away.

He makes it to the edge of the platform, cursing and sliding to a halt just in time to slap the end of the train as it passes with more choice words and barely holding back a sob.

“Do you ever leave the house with a coat?”

Steve spins on his heel to find Sam standing there, looking as miserable as he feels.  He’s at a loss for words, glancing back at the disappearing train then to Sam once more, suddenly unable to look away.  His heart is pounding in his chest and his head swims. Steve’s convinced the world could stop moving and in that moment he wouldn’t notice.

“I thought – “  He chokes out, barely audible.

Sam shrugs and wrings his hand on the strap of his bag.  “Yeah. I thought too.  But,” he shakes his head, staring out at where the train had gone out of sight.  “I couldn’t.”

For a long time the silence between them is heavy, strained and charged like never before.  Steve is caught between breaking down again and smiling like he’s been given a second (third) chance at life.  

But he’s come all this way, broken things so much that the only way to go from here is up.  “Sam, I can’t.  No, I don’t want – “ Steve stops himself before he gets it wrong and can’t go back.  

Sam presses his lips together and gives him a small nod, a silent acknowledgment that he would wait for Steve to finish.

And that’s when his lips – his whole body - start to tremble again, not from the wet or the cold but for the enormity of everything the man standing in front of him is to him.  “I have stared down nazis, hydra, aliens, robots that considered destroying the world a hobby, and none of that ever frightened me as much as watching you walk out that door did.  I am a messed up, screwed up, miserable human being.  I’m a national icon that hates crowds and cringes when too many people look my way.  And you’re right, I ignore all of my problems, your problems, our problems. I push them away and pretend they don’t exist because maybe that means that the pain doesn’t exist either.  But it does, god does it ever.  You knew that.  You’ve accepted it and there is no excuse for making you carry that for both of us for so damned long.  

I don’t know if we want exactly the same thing because I never let us actually talk about it.  But what I do want is you, to not lose you.  I want to be at your side while we both learn how to be less fucked up.  And I can’t make any promises that it will be better, that I’ll get better.  But, fuck, Sam.  I can promise to try.”  

He hears the thunk of Sam’s bag falling to the ground before Steve registers what is happening.  But then there’s hands bracketing his face and tear slicked lips pressed against his.  Warmth and relief floods his body, through his skin and down his spine.  He puts a strong hand on the small of Sam’s back and holds him close, kissing him with such a renewed sense of purpose that it’s like kissing him for the first time all over again.  There’s no urgency here, the only need between them the need to be close, to remember.  Sam’s body is strong, sturdy and yet still melding with Steve’s easily in their embrace. They give and take and get lost in one another like they haven’t in ages.  Steve never wants it to end.  

Sam breaks the kiss but doesn’t move away, barely able to part from Steve’s lips.  They’re both nearly breathless.  “That’s all I ever asked for.”  

The sigh that Steve lets out is heavy and warm between them.  “I’m so sorry, Sam.  How do I do this? How do I - ”

“We.”  Sam corrects him then presses more kisses to his lips, holding Steve tighter still.  “We fix this together.  And we stop walking away.  Stop pretending that nothing is wrong while fully aware of exactly what’s up.”  His smile is soft, meant just for Steve and leans away just long enough to make eye contact, to let him know how important whatever Steve says next is.

And for once, Steve doesn’t back down.  He is shaking and he’s still scared – terrified – but he swallows and faces it, head on.  “Yeah. Yeah, Sam.  For you, I think I could do anything.”


End file.
